


Sometimes

by jencsi



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:41:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26394313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jencsi/pseuds/jencsi
Summary: Old habits, contrary to what they say, do not die. Post "CSI on Fire" Finn and her "Seattle ex" Mike.
Kudos: 1





	Sometimes

“You miss me don’t you?” she shot the words to his heart, knowing with one hundred percent certainty what his answer was going to be.

He shifted his gaze to the concrete lot they were standing on, kicking at a loose rock on the ground, taking in the scent of the salty sea air that engulfed him on the daily before looking back up at her. The wind had whipped her hair around, entangling it, the sun brightening her golden curls, revealing its glory. 

“Sometimes” he replied, not wanting her to completely have the upper hand in this flirtatious conversation. 

“Sometimes I miss you,” she admits, shifting on her feet, but grinning up at him, letting the wind toss her hair around wildly, carelessly. 

He mumbles something about driving her to the airport so she won’t have to take a cab but she silences that suggestion with a swift “I’ll take a later flight,” 

Next thing he knew, she was pressed up against him, letting him rest his hand on the back of her head, stopping that wretched wind from destroying her hair at last, locked in a tender kiss, right in the open, for all to see. 

So what if they were divorced, he thought as she stood on tiptoes to reach him better, deepening the kiss and sending his heart beating into overdrive, they could still have a connection. It’s not like either of them were in a relationship right now. They both knew each other too well to not see a slew of failed, short term dating strings even two thousand miles apart. 

So what if she almost cost him his job, he thought, taking her back to his car, she learned her lesson right? She managed to secure another job, Russell had forgiven her, why shouldn’t he? 

Thoughts of their boss and colleague faded quickly from his mind as he took her back to his house. He sensed a method to her madness because her travel bag was still piled up in the corner of his living room, forcing them to return her no matter the outcome of the dock conversation. She was the devil with angel eyes and a wicked hold on him. 

“Spaghetti okay?” he offered to cook as she perched herself on one of the bar stools at his kitchen counter. 

“Sounds great,” she said. 

As he cooked, maneuvering around the kitchen space, he stole glances at her. She refrained from snooping through the mail on the counter unlike her invasion a few days ago upon her arrival for this case. She didn’t make any snide comments about his choice of beer stocked in the fridge, nor did she try and interrogate him about any of his dates in recent years. She was oddly quiet, perched on that stool, scrolling through her phone, making random conversation about the food. 

“Do you still mix it with the oil and then the seasoning?” she inquired of his famous recipe.

“Of course,” he assured her “like they say, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

He smirks, she makes a face, noticing something different in his tone, his drawl, like he’s trying to impress her but could care less at her response, it’s familiarity that is making this so natural, so easy and smooth. 

When he announces that the food is ready, she perks up in the chair, pushing both plates forward. He loads both plates full of spaghetti and instructs her to take them out to the balcony patio. 

“What about the game?” she pouts. 

He laughs and nods behind her where she turns to find the TV still smashed from her outburst the previous day. 

When she turns back to him, she’s biting her lip and he feels his stomach flip. 

“I really am sorry about that,” she admits. 

“Hey, not my TV remember?” he tosses back her snark from the other day. 

He’s lucky she’s holding the plates of food, otherwise he would have to face her wrath. Later, he reminds himself, there will be plenty of time. 

She sighs when they sit down to eat. She spends most of the meal staring out at the water, watching boats and other houses in the distance come to life as night dwellers awaken or just the opposite, lights dimming down as the occupants are ending their day. 

“It’s so beautiful here,” she declares, eyes on the water. 

All he can think about is her, how beautiful she is, how wild and chaotic, she’s like a wave, crashing over and over on his heart of stone. Despite everything they had been through, he cared about her still and he hoped with all his heart, she did too. Granted they could never have what they did before her betrayal, but what was wrong with this occasional get-together? 

She loved this place, contrary to what her ex and others might say, given everything she had done, Cooley, the wine glass, this case, there was something about the water, the harbors, the air, it just felt different. Even now, it was home. Vegas was too. But they shifted their fight for the top spot of her comfortability on the daily. One minute she was pumped up with the hustle and bustle of Fremont Street. Next, she was pining for fall colors, cinnamon rolls, boats and rain. She pined for this place the way she pined for him, his presence produced a dull ache in her chest, like it was slowly being filled with whatever it required to heal. 

She swirled her mostly empty beer bottle around, having cleared her plate of pasta, lamenting on the horizon and sunset that was now almost over. Seagulls had gone silent, dull bells and boat horns were ceasing, becoming less frequent in their clanging across the soft crashes of waves against the docks and land. She could fall asleep out here, as she had done on many occasions, when they kept that hammock out here, she would lay in it, just resting her eyes for a moment then finding herself completely knocked out, lulled by the harbor. She would sometimes wake up in the midst of Mike carrying her to bed or she would wake up already tucked in, feeling him slip in the bed beside her and pull her close, her back against his chest, arm tucked around her, safe. 

She secretly hoped she could fall asleep in this patio chair so he could carry her once again. Instead, he reached for her empty plate to carry it back inside along with the silverware and empty beer bottles. He tasked her with locking up the patio and closing the curtains to the sliding glass doors. She followed his cue to wrap up the evening, delicately pulling the fabric curtains together to block out viewers and light. Her fingers grazed the fabric gently, savoring the last moment of salty air that snuck in before she closed the door. She couldn’t allow herself to turn around and face the kitchen and him and the prospect of having to turn in for the night, dreading him saying the words “Couch okay?” in that soft mumble, tossing her a blanket and pillow from the linen closet and that would be the end of it. 

But when she found the strength to turn around, he was right there, hands in his pockets looking all too casual, work shirt half tucked in, top buttons undone. She felt a twinge of suspicion for just a moment but it faded faster than it took her to close the space between them and press herself back into his arms, where she belonged, at least in this moment. 

He was sturdy, she remembered instantly the minute he embraced her, his arms snaking around her back, pulling her in closer. He was old fashioned in the way he physically swept her off her feet, making her giggle into the kiss, wrapping her arms securely around his neck as he carried her to the bedroom. The room smelled like his cologne, triggering scent memories of nights like this, dimming lights, cool sheets, the king sized bed she missed sleeping in after she first moved out. She was relieved he kept it, albeit disturbed by her brain imagining all his other dates spending time in here. She recalled her discovery in the couch cushions yesterday and wondered if maybe, just maybe, his new lover never made it to this room, this sacred space untouched since their last time here. He was sentimental too. 

Loving her was easy, that much he knew. She never toyed with his emotions when it came to their intimacy, she was true and genuine in the time she spent with him like this. Sometimes he wondered what had possessed her about this case to make her completely lose sight of herself and of him. Something told him he would never know but as he teased aside the collar of her shirt and kissed her neck, he didn’t really care if he ever found out. They both hated to admit they were right about their feelings, but look where that got them. 

Gentle, that’s what she was reduced to, that was the side he brought out in her, soft. Here with him, she didn’t need to fight to be heard or seen or taken seriously. He respected her, even after their fall from grace. The darkness made her feel safe to let herself go and accept the love she had been fighting so hard to avoid. She flung her arm across his chest in laziness, catching her breath. His fingers found her wrist in the dark and made the slow tender trail down her arm, sliding back up, savoring each pass of his fingers along her skin. She twitched her arm but had no energy to move it away. Let him love you, her heart was beating her brain into compliance, stop fighting. 

“I’m glad you stayed,” he confessed to her, switching how his fingers moved up and down her arm, zigzagging left and right. 

“Me too,” she bit her lip, adoring this affection, her stomach swooping with more butterflies than she ever expected to feel. 

“I was afraid you wouldn’t want anything to do with me anymore,” she continued to confess her fears.“I was afraid you’d forget the things that made us so good.”

“You’re not easy to forget Jules,” he admitted in a gruff tone. 

In fact, every single moment they spent together over the last few days triggered memories of her and what they used to have. From how she kissed to how she loved, he recalled prior tender moments like this. He stopped tickling her arm and instead ran his fingers through her hair, scratching her head, tousling her hair, just the way she liked. 

She touched his cheek with the back of her hand, lost in his comforts, able to recall all their previous times together like this. Out of habit, involuntarily, she turned to lay on her stomach, her head on his chest, sighing, ready to speak again but failing to utter any words when he silenced her by dragging a single finger down her spine, remembering the smoothness of her skin, savoring the moment when he reached her lower back and she shivered intensely. He smirked, pressing a kiss to the top of her head lamenting on things a person just couldn't forget. 

The room darkening curtains he bought for the bedroom years ago continued to do the job ninety percent of the time. On rare occasions the sun was intense enough to break through the barriers of cotton and pierce his eyes even with them closed. He didn’t want to move because it would mean acknowledging her, what they did, how they felt, things were easier in the dark. Nevertheless, he opened his eyes and searched for her. No surprise she had made herself perfectly comfortable, taking up the other half of the bed in how she stretched out, tangled up in blankets, one arm shoved under her pillow at an angle. 

Sometime during the night she dressed herself in one of his Seahawks T-shirts and he felt a surge of affection, remembering how good she looked in his clothes, how she wore them around the house often, so natural and casual. Seeing her asleep and at rare peace sent another surge of affection through his chest. Waking her would prove to be a monumental and dangerous task if done incorrectly. He recalled many mornings rousing her with various techniques, usually resulting in a grumble of annoyance and a pillow shoved at his face in protest. Of course he could always slip out of bed and make her breakfast but she hated being left alone. Instead he resorted to one soft technique that would protect himself from injury and not disturb her too greatly; A kiss to her forehead, nuzzling her hair, savoring her warm skin, smiling against it. 

“You remembered,” she whispered tiredly to him from where she lay. 

She opened her eyes to see him and the sunshine casting odd shadows over the room, stifled by the curtains, a blue tint to the light making it feel like they were surrounded by water. 

“And looks like you remembered how to steal my clothes,” he marveled of her outfit choice, lifting the covers slightly to find she had also slipped into a pair of running shorts. 

“That’s right,” she teased him with her snark, “and there’s nothing you can do about it.” 

She made a face, sticking her tongue out, mocking him like she used to when a team he liked was losing. 

“You might think that,” he sighed, “but if I remember correctly, there is something I can do about it.” 

He rolled over to her side, settling on top of her, trapping her in the mess of tangled blankets they were wrapped in. She expected kisses, a morning make out session, like they used to have on rainy days when neither of them felt like getting out of bed. Instead, his hands wandered under the covers, under her shirt, finding her sides and pinching both, hard, frantic. She yelped and burst out laughing, squirming every which way, entangling herself more in the blankets. Through her explosive laughter she could hear him muttering “I knew you were ticklish, I just couldn’t remember where”

She knew damn well he was lying as she shrieked when his playful wandering fingers abandoned her tender sides and tapped along her ribs. 

“I think it’s this spot,” he feigned forgetfulness, enjoying her frantic, failed grabs for his hands. 

“No, maybe it’s here,” he antagonized, digging his fingers into her soft stomach. 

She howled with laughter, her hands flailing helplessly as they could not grab a hold of his to make him stop. She both loved and hated him for this, caught up in this affection, twisting and turning in search of an escape, her nerves on fire, muscles sore from laughing, stomach tingling from his touch. He remembered everything, even how to drive her crazy. 

Distracted by their fun, she almost missed the buzz of her cell phone on the nightstand. She squeaked out his name in protest and he ceased, allowing her to reach behind her for the phone but staying nestled on top of her, sighing at the delay, elbows propped up on the mattress, chin resting on the palm of one hand, bored as he awaited her call to be done. 

“It’s Russell,” she announced the caller ID, breath catching in her chest.

“Send him to voicemail,” Mike encouraged her. 

“I can’t,” she shook her head. “He will think something’s wrong, just be quiet until I can get rid of him okay?” 

He shrugged but fell silent as she swiped the screen to answer the call. 

“Hey whats up?” she answered, one hand coming to rest on her forehead, sweeping her own hair back, nervous. 

“Nope, no just finishing up some paperwork,” she lied and Mike shook his head. 

Bored with her call, he got playful, letting his hands roam, fingers tracing circles and shapes on her stomach lazily. She bites her lip, arching forward, trying not to laugh and give away her true location to Russell. 

“Yeah the flight’s later this afternoon,” she squeaks out, stifling giggles. 

Enthralled by this game, he keeps going, grazing her skin ever so lightly, fluttering fingers over tender spots while she loses her mind. 

“Yeah I’m glad we caught him too,” she keeps trying to end her phone conversation “sorry for putting you through hell again.” 

She attempts to wiggle out of his embrace but fails, mouthing curse words to him, holding the phone away from her mouth as she does. Now that’s just rude, he realizes. He presses his thumbs into her hips, moving in a slow circular motion. She twists suddenly and whines her answer into the phone “I hope so too,” antagonized by his touch and annoyed at Russell for calling her. Her cheeks are flushing red. She uses her other hand to swat at him, freeing her for a moment until his hand reaches for her thigh and squeezes, fingers digging in. 

“Russell I have to go,” she squeaks, unable to stifle it any longer as she ends the call. She has half a conscious mind to drop her phone back behind her on the nightstand before addressing him. 

“That’s mean,” she whines, laughing again as his fingers stay rooted in her inner thigh, clawing at the tender muscle. 

“You started it,” he complained of her thievery. 

She shook her head, having no more words or protests for him, just giggling uncontrollably as his fingers traced more circles and shapes on her thigh, lazy, maddening. He could lay like this all day with her, but that looming threat of her afternoon flight back to Vegas was growing closer and closer with each second that ticked by. 

“I had a lot of fun” she whispered to him in the drop off lane at the airport hours later. 

“Me too,” he admitted “wish it wasn’t a murder case that brought us together.” 

“It’s the job,” she concluded of how someone else’s violence allowed them to reconnect. 

He took in every last second of precious time with her, noting how her hair still had some tangled strands from where he spent the rest of the morning running his fingers through it lazily. They skipped breakfast, opting to stay wrapped up in that bed, savoring soft touches and quiet whispers about their lives over the last two years. When she complained she was hungry, he kissed her pout and promised her a brunch at their favorite diner to which her eyes lit up with excitement. 

They exchanged more casual conversation over the combo plate; eggs, bacon, toast, hash browns and a side of pancakes, her favorite. Now they found time slipped away too quickly and she had packed up her belongings and loaded up his car, ending up here at this airport, the urge to turn around and cancel the flight overwhelming her. 

“Don’t be a stranger,” he quipped the usual pleasantry in this type of conversation. 

“You know where to find me,” she added slipping out of the car, stealing a glance back at him as she lifted her travel bag onto her shoulder. He watched her amble up to the gate to be checked in, seeing her wave one last time, shooting another final affectionate shot to his already aching heart. 

Sometimes life got in the way of what he really wanted. Sometimes she mesmerized him, other times she infuriated him. He could see how easy it was for her to lure others into her wicked ways. But truth be told, she was too good for any of them. Maybe that’s why settling her was a mistake. For all the fun they had, a million arguments would surface. But boy she could spar with him like no other. He watched her disappear into the airport terminal and he had to fight the urge to run after her. In good time, he reminded himself. Somehow they always found a way to fall back to each other, whether it took two years or four, Seattle or Vegas, wherever she landed, his heart would forever follow.


End file.
